


vestigial organs

by thekookster



Series: cross-sectional anatomy [2]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Bisexuality, Drunken Kissing, Jealousy, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Sexuality Crisis, Sidney Crosby’s Verbal Humiliation Kink, Unresolved Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:25:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23305222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekookster/pseuds/thekookster
Summary: Look, Sid is freshly 30, he’s frankly too old to want to lie to himself about what thoughts cross his mind and what he wants.
Relationships: Sidney Crosby/Nathan MacKinnon
Series: cross-sectional anatomy [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1903576
Comments: 17
Kudos: 162





	vestigial organs

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look, it’s a Sid-centric side snippet about a longer Nate-centric WIP I’ve got! Anyway, this is something I knocked out all at once within a couple hours over a glass of wine and is not beta’d, so my apologies, friends.  
> Set in the 2017/18 season.

It would be a fair assessment to say that Sid is pretty confused these days. For one, he isn’t gay.

He thinks.

That’s apart from how much he really likes Nate and wants to make him smile all the time— not that that has anything to do with wanting to have sex with Nate. Although he’s definitely had a stray thought or two about leaning over when the lights are low and they’re sharing a bottle of wine just to see what that vintage tastes like on Nate’s tongue. 

Look, Sid is freshly 30, he’s frankly too old to want to lie to himself about what thoughts cross his mind and what he wants. He’s as secure in his preferences and personality as a man his age can be. He knows the exact way he likes his sandwich the same way he knows the exact way he likes when a woman makes him work for it with his tongue and holds him down between her thighs before she slides down onto his dick and rides him until he’s sore and his balls ache. He’s too old for denial, and he’s too old to be having a crisis about something as essential as his sexuality. 

Right?

* * *

Sid’s grinning when he opens the door for Nate. He knows it’s not typical for him to be in such a good mood after a loss, although he’s mellowed out about stuff like that with age, but he can’t help himself— it’s only been three months since they last saw each other, but that’s already too long. On his doorstep, Nate looks a little nervous, probably due to the L his team handed the Pens, and his eyes briefly flit down to where Sidney’s shirt is unbuttoned. Uncharacteristically, Sid opted for the first two buttons to be undone today instead of just the typical one, and he has a flicker of doubt if it was too much. Nate’s eyes refocus on Sid’s face though: more specifically his mouth, and a flash of heat flares through Sid before Nate greets him with: “God, what the fuck _is_ that thing.”

 _Oh_ , Sid thinks, _the mustache_. Of course Nate wasn’t looking at his mouth.

He plays it off easily while wandering back into his house to where their dinner is waiting, Nate obediently following.

Later on, alone in bed, with one arm bent to cup the back of his neck, he takes the time to think about it: a little late-night introspection to figure his head out. He pictures it, the way Nate’s face looked when his gaze was caught around his mouth, and he cups his soft dick, trying to figure out how he feels about it. He’s just playing with himself a little. He rubs his thumb over his head slowly; tugs at his dick every now and then. He’s seen gay porn before, and it didn’t do much for him, but he tries drawing up a scenario like that, the hypothetical play cheesy and dumb but Nate inserted: tries imagining being told by Nate the Pizza Delivery Boy he’s going to have to pay for his pizza somehow.

It doesn’t really do a lot for his dick.

Sid sighs and moves his hand to rest on his thighs. Maybe the flash of arousal earlier was a fluke? A byproduct of his latest dry spell?

He wishes briefly he could bounce ideas off of Nate. The way their brain is wired is so weirdly similar, Nate’s always got some good outside insight when Sid’s a little too close to the issue at hand. He’d probably be able to help Sid figure out what’s going on here or at least point him in the right direction. Sid can just picture it, Nate saying, _look, it's not rocket science, just close your eyes, picture me tugging on your dick. You know what my hands look like, don’t you? Not too far off from your own, fingers a little thicker and palm a little drier, and that’s my other hand on the back of your neck, pressing down, c’mon Sid—_

Sid is definitely getting hard. He’s even leaking a little; a rare occurrence when he’s just jerking off by himself. Fuck. 

He tugs on his balls a little, and now he can’t help himself picturing Nate’s hands instead of his own sliding over his dick. He wonders if Nate would touch him the same way he touches himself. He thinks about Nate smiling in the low light on his porch in Nova Scotia in August, imagines him looming over Sid in the same light in his bedroom now, smiling the same smile. Thinks about Nate grinning and goading him, saying his name that way, saying: _what, is this too complicated for you to figure out, Sidney?_

Sid comes with his hand clamped down on the back of his neck, choking down Nate’s name.

* * *

Sid’s resolve not to do anything about his weird feelings before he’s absolutely sure about the degree of necessity to take action and his exact game plan in doing so crumbles about as fast as Toronto’s defense when they’re up by 3. More specifically, it crumbles two drinks in, in the face of the gorgeous brunette that Nate buys a drink for while they’re out at the stupid hipster club in Denver that Tanger suggested trying; a suggestion Sid jumped on very readily to see if him and Nate in a club environment now made him feel any differently than before he got off like a rocket to the concept of Nate teasing him. It’s exactly the kind of thing Flower suggested trying when Sid called him to figure his shit out, and perfectly adjustable to his plan. It was a carefully crafted plan, too: go out with a bunch of the guys and Nate, stay over in Nate’s guest room, spend the off day before the game with Nate, then go back to the team hotel and get ready for the game, then think about his feelings post-exposure to Nate once he’s back in Pittsburgh. Then craft further plans.

He’s regretting it a little now.

Nate’s clearly attracted to the brunette, laughing a little while they chat. Sid can’t really blame him, under different circumstances she’d probably be hitting some of Sid’s buttons too, although he tends to go more for the blondes. Or, supposedly, in this specific case, the blond.

He settles a little when said blond comes back to the table instead of leaving with her, although he’s internally embarrassed, abruptly self-aware at his own jump into jealousy. It’s not okay to be a weird caveman and get possessive about Nate. It’s super inappropriate and Sid needs to cool his jets. At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself as Nate throws his arm over Sid’s shoulder and passes him his drink, laughing along to the suggestive comments the Pens rookies are making about his attractive run-in at the bar, _thanks, Jake_. 

His continuing attempts to get himself and his inappropriate emotional reactions under control obviously don’t fucking work, because when Nate drives them over to his place later he keeps glancing over like he just beat Sid at sand dune sprints. It feeds into a discouraging loop of Sid being pissed at himself for being so noticeably pissed— a terrible lack of self-control on his part— which makes him more pissed. He’s pissing in a circle, basically, which is just terribly unproductive behaviour.

It figures, really, that when Nate finally tentatively says “hey—,” Sid pissily interrupts, “I could’ve taken an Uber, you know.”

It’s not his finest moment.

Sid can feel Nate just looking at him for a minute before he goes “I was gonna say that we’re at my place and that you can get out of the car,” he remarks, faintly amused, “you know, unless you wanna keep chilling out in here.”

Sid looks up, and apparently he was busy enough stewing that he failed to notice that they’d pulled into Nate’s driveway. Maybe that third drink hit him harder than he thought.

“Right,” he sighs, his exhaustion suddenly hitting him. 

They slowly walk up to the front door, the cold night air around them suddenly too sobering and quiet after the cacophony of Sid’s earlier thoughts. It isn’t until they’re inside and toeing off their shoes that Nate goes, “look, you know I’ve got your back,” and Sid’s kissing him.

It’s all over the place, totally unlike Sid: he’s still got one of his shoes on, his jacket is still on, Nate is still half-hunched over from taking off his shoes, jacket off of one shoulder already. Their only point of contact is the hand that Sid has at the back of Nate’s neck, steadying them both into a kiss that’s smoother than it has any right to be given that Nate’s got a little stubble going on.

Wow, Sid never even thought about the stubble. That feels kind of good.

Fuck, it feels really good.

They break, and Nate’s panting a little, going “what—,“ and Sid is just really tired and still a little bit of a caveman in the back of his brain, and he just about lets Nate straighten himself before he grabs his shoulder clumsily and pulls him in again.

Their momentum carries them through the hallway and into the living room, Nate just automatically responding so well to all of Sid’s plays, and there’s something about that that’s so satisfying: Nate knows the next move without having to be told a single word. Something warm curls up in Sid’s chest at the satisfaction of being known so well, so intuitively; and unbidden, the thought rises up: _the sex is going to be so good_.

A low groan rumbles through Sid’s chest at the thought, and it isn’t until Nate pulls away that he notices that they’ve landed on the couch, Nate’s warm and solid body suddenly pulling away, too far from his own.

“Wait,” Nate is saying, but Sid’s still a little too busy feeling the imprint Nate’s body left after pressing down against his own, a little overwhelmed with how good it felt: not because it’s been so long since the last time Sid got laid, but because it’s _Nate_.

Sid sits up a little, grabs at Nate’s upper arm to pull him back in, because he knows now, he’s sure. It’s Nate.

Nate goes easily, lets himself be pulled back on top of Sid slowly while Sid’s sucking his bottom lip in his mouth. It isn’t until he’s fully straddling Sid again, propped up with his forearms on either side of Sid’s head that he again says, “wait.” 

Sid is trying to focus, because Nate’s blue eyes are really intense, all of a sudden; Nate’s biceps just feels _really good_ , honestly, it’s a little hard.

“We shouldn’t do this,” Nate whispers, their foreheads pressed together, “you’re pretty drunk.”

Except that Sid is really sure about this, so that definitely doesn’t matter. He’s 30, if he wants to hook up while he’s a little drunk, that’s his given right as an adult. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, leaning up to keep kissing Nate, spreading his palms against Nate’s sides just to feel him breathe.

Nate kisses back again, easy as anything for a few moments, before whatever he’s anxious about gets the better of him again.

“No, I can’t,” Nate pants, and pulls away.

Sid stares at the empty ceiling he’s left with for a minute until he hears Nate stumble up from the couch. He turns to look up and Nate looks— pretty freaked out, actually, _shit_.

“I gotta— I’m gonna. Talk to you tomorrow,” Nate chokes out, and Sid feels _awful_.

“Wait,” he speaks up, “are you okay? I don’t—,” _want to hurt you, ever_ , Sid thinks.

Some of that must come through without him saying it outright, because Nate uncoils a little, although he doesn’t calm down entirely. 

“I’m good, just— we’ll talk tomorrow, okay? But I’m good, I swear.” He pauses before turning away entirely. “Uh, you know where the guest room is.” 

“Nate,” Sid starts, sobriety starting to kick in. But by the time he’s upright on the couch and halfway to coherent, Nate’s already making his way up the stairs. Apparently, he’s not listening to Sid anymore.

Fuck. It figures that at 30, Sid’s managed to find the one situation where he’s just about out of his depth.

Sid sighs and rubs his hand over his face. Nate probably has the right idea, honestly. So Sid slowly trudges upstairs and slumps into Nate’s guest bedroom. He strips off his clothes, and while sliding between the cool sheets makes him miss the heat of Nate’s body instantly, he’s already feeling the guilt set in. He spares a thought to hope that in his own selfish quest to figure out his feelings for Nate, he didn’t screw it up with the one person who currently matters the most. 

Tomorrow he’ll set it right.

**Author's Note:**

> My deepest apologies to any Toronto fan reading this.  
> This is more specifically set in the December of ‘17, where Colorado and Pittsburgh actually did have both their regular season games 7 days apart from each other. PIT did in fact host first irl, and they did lose both those games to Colorado.  
> Sid and Nate being stupidly competitive about their summer training and sand dune racing is also a legit thing, they both spoke about it on the Spittin Chiclets Podcast (Sidney why are you like this).


End file.
